


orchid crowns

by ixcarus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Established Relationship, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Just them being soft, Kinda a sickfic, M/M, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, One Shot, Picnics, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), no beta we die like Glenn, thats the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixcarus/pseuds/ixcarus
Summary: “Sylvain,” Felix says, quietly. “Aren’t youtiredof me yet?”The question comes out before he can stop himself, words climbing out like acid against his throat, like ash that burns his tongue, thick and dark and altogetherheavy.He has so much he wants to say, suddenly, but words have never been his strength, so he stands there silently, about to burst and unravel, waiting for an answer he wishes wouldn’t come.Sylvain squeezes his hand twice.Love you.___Felix is having a bad day, so Sylvain stays behind and makes thingsworsebetter
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 17
Kudos: 209





	orchid crowns

**Author's Note:**

> this is perhaps the most self indulgent thing i've written. 
> 
> i have no idea where this came from, my current (and first) playthrough is golden deer and yes i did recruit these boys but i only just got the timeskip and idk, i just really hope their characterizations here are accurate;;
> 
> shoutout to my friend for giving me the prompt "orchid" to get this thing started, really would not have found inspo without her! she also writes so please check her out if you'd like [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiyakeo)
> 
> anyways if you're reading this, what are u doing go ahead and read the fic, I hope you enjoy!

When Felix wakes up with a crick in his neck and a quiet pounding behind his eyes, he knows he’s fucked.

He tries not to get angry about it, but it’s hard. Today, Byleth had planned to take their class to neighboring territory to get rid of some bandits. Considering they had spent last weekend resting, Felix had been looking _forward_ to the action. He even let Sylvain take him away from his training early to make sure he would get enough rest.

He’s not sure why he expected things to work out the way he wanted. The realization he’s going to have to stay in this weekend despite his efforts puts him in a mood worse than any physical pain could.

Felix allows himself to sit still in bed for a minute longer — _breathe in, breathe out —_ before finally starting the arduous task of getting up. He wishes it was as easy as it sounded, as it’s _supposed_ to be. Yet his body has never quite listened or done as it’s supposed to, and with no easy name for _what_ condition he had there were just some days where he had to deal with — _this._

His joints are sore. Sleep has somehow made every bruise and cut from yesterday’s practice spars feel worse rather than better, and he winces as he tries to ignore the pulsing, familiar pain running up his arms as he props himself up. He hates how ragged his breathing already is _,_ how the feeling of helplessness stirring in his stomach is familiar, a permanent fixture in his life.

 _At the very least,_ Felix tells himself, _you should be able to do chores today. Don’t tell me you’re so weak that you can’t even manage that?_

With this singular thought in mind, Felix gets up from bed and gets ready for the day. Washes his face with shaking hands he tries to ignore. Makes his bed for the sole reason of saying _fuck you_ to his headache. Dresses himself, which somehow derails into a slow task of doing his buttons, realizing he’s messed up the order, and then having _redo_ them, and it’s such trivial problem but it still feels like his mistake is going to choke him, until he can’t _breathe—_

“Felix!” A voice calls out, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Are you going to come out, or what?”

Before Felix can respond, Sylvain’s smiling face pops up behind the door. _Of course,_ he thinks furiously, _of course he’s here. What an idiot._

Sylvain is saying something, his easy-going expression slowly sliding off his face, but his words pass through Felix’s ears like smoke, beyond his reach.

“Why are you up so early?” Felix asks, interrupting him mid-speech. Last thing he checked, the sun hadn’t finished rising and Sylvain liked to sleep in on the weekends.

Sylvain frowns. Opens his mouth, hesitates for a second. “Breakfast started ten minutes ago,” he says carefully.

Felix blinks. Turns to the clock hanging on his wall — and Sylvain is right, somehow an hour has passed, and he hasn’t even finished _dressing_ himself. He’s not sure what to feel anymore: shame? Anger? _Disappointment,_ his mind settles on. It sits within him like tar, infecting his veins like poison. His fingers shake against his ruined buttons. 

It’s never a good sign when he starts losing his sense of time.

“Here, let me help,” Sylvain starts, and Felix snarls but lets him. He’s done within seconds. _Seconds._ And it took Felix — what, the better part of the hour? _What is wrong with me?_

(Nobody knows. _Nobody knows_ , and perhaps that’s the thing that scares Felix the most — that there’s no end in sight, that he might have to live like this forever, and goddess forbid it gets _worse_ over time. It feels like a curse, a noose slowly tightening around his neck, and maybe one day he’ll finally lose his sense of self, become a _ghost_ who can’t even stand and fight for himself.)

Sylvain also offers to help him to walk to the cafeteria, but he’s not desperate enough to _lean_ on someone. Even if his legs burn from the effort Felix marches his way down the corridors, keeping his head up. He will _not_ let this sickness win, especially in a battle of wills.

 _“Professor,”_ He grits out, once he makes his way towards the table where all the faculty members sit. As much as he hates to admit it, he isn’t insane enough to try and go into battle in his current state. He’ll have to take the day off — and _hell,_ if Felix has to back out he isn’t going to be _coy_ about it. “I’m requesting to be excused from today’s excursion. I’m feeling unwell, but I’ll be able to complete Monastery chores.”

Byleth stares at him with those big, impassive eyes. Even after months of battling together, Felix has trouble reading them — but for a brief moment, he feels a hint of concern from their never-changing expression. “Permission granted.” A pause, then. “If you really feel up to chores, then go ahead. But make sure you rest up properly. And don’t be afraid to ask around for —“

“—I’ll stay behind, professor,” Sylvain interrupts, rudely inserting himself into the conversation. When Felix sends him a withering look, he just puts his hands around the back of his head and grins. As if this is _casual._ “Someone needs to make sure you’re not getting into trouble!”

“Are you sure it’s not the other way around?” Felix snaps back.

“Well, seeing the last time we left you, you managed to get _stuck—“_

“Sylvain, you can stay,” Byleth interrupts, and now Felix can feel amusement from them for _sure._ “I’ll ask the other houses to see if anyone is willing to fill in. You two get some rest, and make sure not to overdo anything.”

And Byleth turns back to their breakfast, effectively ending the conversation. Again, Felix tries not to get angry about it all, but it’s _hard._ Is that what the professor has come to believe? That Felix is so weak that he needs someone to guide him through even the most basic of tasks? He may be slowed down, but he can sure as hell still _work._

“You _idiot,”_ Felix spits, once they’ve seated for breakfast. “What do you even think you’re doing?”

Sylvain raises a single eyebrow. “Uh, helping you out? Duh.”

“You don’t need to do anything for me. I’m perfectly capable of being by myself.” Felix stabs at his pork with perhaps too much force. The rest of the Blue Lions at the table seem to have sensed Felix’s bad mood and have congregated further away to give them some privacy. _Good,_ he thinks sulkily.

“I know you are, Sylvain says, somehow _patient._ “But there’s nothing wrong with getting help, now and then. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you alone?”

 _Boyfriend._ He hates how the world makes him flush. It makes all of _this_ feel strangely new, yet familiar. Felix is sure that even if they weren’t dating, he’d still be staying behind for _whatever_ godforsaken reason. “One that understands that I _don’t need_ someone to mother me."

“I’m not going trying to mother you.” Sylvain continues, insistent. “I just want to help. We all have our bad days.”

 _Wrong thing to say,_ Felix thinks. The words slide down his skin like sticky ink, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. For a moment, all he sees is _red, red, red,_ pounding with his incessant headache.

“None of you have bad days like _me,”_ he starts, glaring. “I don’t need to — to be _coddled,_ I need to get over it _._ This isn’t the first time this has happened, and It won’t be the last. I don’t need you to drop everything for me every _single_ damn time I’m not feeling well!”

“You’re _right.”_ Sylvain’s voice is dangerously quiet. Felix startles at the seriousness in his tone. “This _isn’t_ the last time this is going to happen. And it isn’t something you can just ‘get over’ either. It’s just the way it is, and it sucks, but the truth is that sometimes bad things happen and it’s nobody’s fault. And that’s okay. You don’t need to punish yourself over this. That’s why _I’m_ here for you.”

“What’s your point?” Felix says, staring at his plate. His breakfast, only half finished, is suddenly unappetizing. His head feels heavy. He hasn’t even done anything and he feels like going to _sleep._ It’s absolutely disgusting. 

“Do you trust me, Fe?”

 _Always,_ he thinks. “You didn’t answer the question,” he says instead.

Sylvain just smiles, tension leaving his shoulders. “Humor me? Just for today, let me take care of things. I _promise_ you won’t die from taking a day off.”

“You sure about that?” Felix mutters under his breath. Sylvain laughs, and Felix tries not to show how pleased he is about it.

“Also,” Sylvain sighs, “doing chores here is _way_ easier than having to kill bandits. I can’t believe Professor actually let me stay.”

“You’re such an _idiot,”_ Felix reiterates, but if his voice comes out much softer than earlier, he blames it on his damn headache.

* * *

Despite his earlier promises to do his part of the house chores, Sylvain has somehow managed to push their workload onto someone else — who it is, exactly, he doesn’t care to know, but he thinks it might involve Hilda and a lot of sweets — so after an excruciatingly long breakfast, he drags Felix by the hand to, in his words, “have some fun and loosen up a little.” 

He’s starting to wonder if it was a good idea to trust Sylvain with all of — of _this,_ or whatever it is that they’re supposedly doing today. After the rest of the Blue Lions depart for their journey (to Felix’s chagrin they all try to _hug_ him and say things like, ‘hope you feel better’) Sylvain disappears for a bit to “prepare.”

In the meanwhile, Felix is left waiting by the cafeteria balcony. The sun feels delicately warm against his skin as he leans against the stone walls, and if he tilts his head just right it almost feels soothing. There’s still an uneasiness in his mind, though, from the current lack of work he’s doing. When was the last time he _truly_ rested? It’s hard to think back, because even before the Tragedy of Duscur he was always _training._ He learned to swing a sword before he learned to hold a brush, and even those simple days with simple dreams, when all he wanted was to play with his friends and brother, seems so far beyond his reach.

He doesn’t realize he’s falling asleep again until he wakes suddenly, jolting back to reality. Although this time it's Sylvain’s steady hands brushing against his forehead that rouses him, rather than his chronic pain.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sylvain says, almost playfully, but Felix doesn’t miss the concern crinkling his eyes. In his arms is a large basket, its contents sealed tightly under its woven lid. “You could’ve fallen over if you leaned just a bit further.”

“As if I would do something so idiotic,” Felix mutters back, rubbing his arms in a vain attempt to assuage some of the constant, sharp static. There’s a dull ache in his fingers that doesn’t seem to go away.

“If you say so! But if you manage to topple over one of these days, _I’ll_ be the one who has to save you. And when that happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sylvain speaks as if it would be a huge chore, but the hint of a smirk on his face gives him away. “You wish,” Felix says, rolling his eyes.

Sylvain offers his hand, then, like some sort of _gentleman._ It’s absolutely horrendous, and the only reason he takes it is because he’s _dizzy_ and he needs _temporary_ assistance with his balance. Not for any other reason, of course, and if any of the other students shoot them a strange look about it he makes sure to glare until they get the message.

He’s sure they’ve only walked for a few minutes, but for some reason to Felix it feels much longer. He blinks, trying to break through the cotton in his brain that makes everything _slow,_ and suddenly finds that Sylvain has lead them to the lake.

“You’re taking me fishing?” Felix grunts, unimpressed. Sylvain looks offended at the very thought.

“What? Of course not. What even makes you think you’ll reel in fish when you can’t lift a sword?”

The comment hurts less than he expected, but he hits Sylvain in the arm anyway. “Then _why_ are we here?”

“Does _everything_ need to have a reason?” Sylvain mutters, ignoring the small _‘yes’_ Felix says in response. “I wanted to take a break from walking.” _You seem like you want to rest._

“I don’t need a break from walking,” Felix says. _If I stop here I won’t be able to get back up,_ he thinks. 

Sylvain looks over him, then, and Felix hates how exposed it makes him feel. He’s not sure if it’s because they’ve spent so long together, or because it’s _just Sylvain,_ but the other has always had the ability to read him like an open book. 

“Okay. No walking break,” he relents, and instead leads them further until they’re standing in front of the greenhouse. He turns to Felix as if expecting something ridiculous, like a smile.

“I don’t see how this is any better.” Felix deadpans. 

“We’re going to have a picnic!” Sylvain announces, swinging the basket on his arms. His eyes sparkle with a sort of childish excitement that has Felix feeling strange things he’d rather not think about. 

“Don’t tell me you plan to have us sit on the floor.”

“I brought a blanket! And lunch. _And_ a board game.”

“Why the greenhouse?” 

“It’s warm and quiet. And nobody goes to the greenhouse unless they’re on garden duty, _and I made sure_ to bribe — I mean convince — Hilda to stay away, so we’ll be alone.” 

“Sylvain,” Felix says, quietly. “Aren’t you _tired_ of me yet?”

The question comes out before he can stop himself, words climbing out like acid against his throat, like ash that burns his tongue, thick and dark and altogether _heavy._ He has so much he wants to say, suddenly, but words have never been his strength, so he stands there silently, about to burst and unravel, waiting for an answer he wishes wouldn’t come.

Sylvain squeezes his hand twice. _Love you._

“That’s a dumb question,” he says, without skipping a beat. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. As _if_ I could get tired of you.” 

He says it like it’s fact, unchangeable. _And that’s the problem,_ Felix thinks, leaning in closer despite the way his heart lurches _. Stay too close, and you’ll get attached. And when you get attached — things get messy._

(But recently, he can’t help but think — maybe, maybe, some things are worth it.)

The greenhouse, as always, is that strange temperature of warm that makes Felix sleepy. It’s empty as Sylvain predicted, and Felix watches with an amused grin as his boyfriend gets to work on setting up their so-called picnic. 

_“Please_ don’t tell me you got those sheets from your bedroom,” Felix says, recognizing the pattern of the blankets laid out.

“Tsk, tsk,” Sylvain tuts, “asking more dumb questions, I see. I obviously got them from _your_ bedroom—”

_“— I swear to the goddess if you’re serious, right now—”_

“—Kidding! I was kidding. I took them from Ingrid’s cause they smell nice.”

Felix isn’t sure if he wants to kill Sylvain or kiss him. “You’re an idiot, have you told you that before?”

“Plenty of times. But you still _like me,_ don’t you?” Sylvain gives him a coy smile.

“Somehow,” Felix sighs, and seeing Sylvain splutter at the easy admission feels strangely worth it. “If Ingrid finds out, I’m blaming it all on you.”

“Oh, she’ll find out for sure. But that’s a problem for future me to worry about.”

They’re set up in the corner, so that even _if_ someone walked in they’d be hidden by the greenery around them. There are pillows too, and Felix begrudgingly must admit that it’s very cozy.

Felix looks up at Sylvain, as he adjusts the last corner of the blanket and settles down next to him. His hair looks softer under the filtered sunlight, eyes shining as he looks through his packed basket again. His uniform is wrinkled and creased, as if he didn’t properly fold them one too many times, and Felix finds himself trying to smooth it over with his shaky hands.

Sylvain looks down at the motion and smiles — _really_ smiles, the way he does just between the two of them, when there are no girls or judgmental eyes watching. 

“Thinking about my charm?” He whispers. 

“Thinking about how much of a slop you are,” Felix mutters. “I know we’re nobles, but you should know how to do your laundry.” 

“I do! I promise. You’re just meticulous.”  
  
“I hope you know that’s not a bad thing.”

“It isn’t,” Sylvain agrees. “It’s a Felix thing. By the way, are you hungry?”

“Didn’t we just have breakfast?” 

“It was a while ago,” Sylvain says, quietly. He’s always careful when mentioning time — which is strange, because Felix doesn’t remember ever mentioning how much he hates losing hours. “Who cares about when we had breakfast anyways? If we’re hungry that’s good of an excuse to eat.”

“You sound like Raphael.”

“As long as I don’t sound like Lorenz.”

“You sound like Lorenz, too, sometimes.”  
  
“I hope you know I’m very offended.”  
  
 _“Good.”_

Their voices are quiet for no reason — Sylvain was right, nobody really comes around unless they’re on garden duty. But somehow, tucked in their little corner, Felix feels as if he’s left the earth to be in their own pocket of the universe. That for this brief moment, it’s just him and Sylvain, breathing together. 

Sylvain takes out what look like _tarts_ out of the basket _,_ and Felix wrinkles his nose immediately at the sight. “Did you bring sweets?”

“Who do you _think_ I am?” Sylvain splutters, holding a hand to his chest. “These are savory cakes Ashe made. I stole a couple from the kitchen, but I’m sure he won’t mind.” 

“You’re a _criminal._ First the blankets, and now this. _”_

“I don’t see you complaining about it.”

“Just hand it over before I leave.” Even to Felix, the threat sounds pathetically weak. Sylvain only smirks at him though, before handing over the food.

For lack of a better word, the pies are _good._ The flakey crust melts like snow in his mouth, and if it weren’t for the fact that these were _stolen_ he might have given Ashe some complements. Maybe. 

The food gives him some energy to play board games with Sylvain. He’s never found it particularly fun, but Sylvain always has, so he attempts to amuse him through shitty tactics that mostly involve putting his pieces up against giant monsters just to see if they can take it. 

His brain still feels like someone has been using it as a training dummy though, and after a while Sylvain seems to take notice. 

“Alright,” he sighs, pushing away the board. “How’s your pain?”

“Maybe six, seven. I dunno.” Felix frowns at the little game piece in his hands. “My head still hurts.”

Sylvain gently takes the piece away from his hands, wrapping his arms around his shoulders after putting it away. “Would laying down help?”

“Maybe,” Felix relents. “Just don’t let me fall asleep.”

Sylvain’s legs are too bony, and he makes sure to comment on them as he changes positions. Without even needing to ask, he takes off Felix’s ponytail so that it doesn’t get in the way as he lies facing upwards, where he can see beyond Sylvain’s red hair to the glass sky. 

“Hi,” Sylvain whispers. “You good?” 

“I guess,” Felix responds.

For a moment, all is peaceful. The only things Felix can hear are the distant sounds of students beyond the greenhouse, and Sylvain’s soft humming. He finds himself slowly drifting, _relaxing,_ and it’s — nice. 

Then, Sylvain _moves,_ and Felix mutters about ten different curses at the goddess. He was just getting _comfortable._

 _“Sorry,”_ Sylvain says, sounding not sorry at all. “I just wanted to make something.”

Felix turns to see what Sylvain is talking about — to their left is a patch of deep magenta flowers, petals wide and dotted with white. He’s plucked one of them, colors vibrant against his pale skin.

“You’re violating Academy property,” Felix says mildly as Sylvain plucks another flower.

“Hey, who do you think _planted_ all these flowers?”

“The professor, probably.”

Sylvain pouts but doesn’t actually object. “The professor plants them for us to use anyways.”

Felix snorts at that, and he hates how delighted Sylvain looks at the sound. 

He shifts so he can get a better look into what Sylvain is doing, on his back and looking up again. He keeps plucking the flowers, and weaving the stems into some sort of… necklace? Bracelet? Felix isn’t sure, and Sylvain doesn’t seem to want to share — not yet, anyway — so he simply waits and watches his nimble hands work. 

“Do you even know what kind of flower that is?” Felix asks only a few minutes alter. He’s never been one for patience.

“Orchids,” Sylvain responds quietly. There’s a soft blush to his cheeks. “They mean love and beauty. “ 

_What the hell,_ Felix thinks, _why are you like this?_

“Is that supposed to be one of your shitty pickup lines?” He manages to choke out.

Sylvain just grins. “It also means graceful.” His voice drops, and with a wink finally reveals what he’s made by placing it on his head. _A crown of orchids,_ Felix realizes a beat later _._ He can see hints of its petals if he tilts his head up, its weight heavy. 

“Graceful yet powerful.” A pause, a breath, and the sky falls away so the only thing he sees are Sylvain’s eyes. “I think it’s perfect.”

And Felix — Felix has no words for that, only a burning sensation deep in his chest, not unlike the fire burning under his skin. It cuts through the fog in his brain and for a moment he’s overcome with how much he _feels._

 _I’m so in love with him,_ he thinks helplessly. 

Instead, Felix leans up to kiss him — and even if his neck strains from the effort, even if the crown starts sliding off, he finds that he _doesn’t care —_ and Sylvain reaches down just as easily, and he can’t help but feel like this is what it means to come home.

And it’s _scary,_ in a different way than illness or death, because with Sylvain it _always_ ends like this, where he feels like his chest is being ripped open and all he can do is offer his heart completely, and it’s not even in his control anymore with how much he cares about him. It bleeds under his skin, and with every battle he can’t help but be _worried_ that the worst day in his life will repeat and he’ll realize that a part of him has died, cursed to be alone again. 

_Do you trust me?_ Sylvain had asked earlier.

 _With everything,_ Felix thinks, _and it’s terrifying._

And to think that _somehow_ Sylvain feels the same way about _him. Him,_ who’s brash and blunt, who has none of the soft edges or smiles the girls Sylvain likes to go after. _Him,_ who’s chronically ill by some sick decree of the goddess, with no cure in sight. _Him,_ who has yet to say those three words that flutter along his chest, with every beat like a resounding drum — _I love you, I love you, I love you._

And it feels wrong, like a crime, to be able to have something so soft and _fragile_ in his hands, which for so long have only known how to grip a sword and swing. 

“Hey, why the long face? Am I really that bad at kissing?”

“Just shut up,” Felix snarls, this time purposefully crinkling Sylvain’s shirt to pull him in for another kiss. 

They stay like that, together, quiet, for a while. The sun is slowly starting to set, and they both watch the sky. Felix is truly getting sleepy now, and he finds himself struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t insist on going,” Sylvain suddenly says, running his hands through Felix’s hair. “I thought you were walking up to the professor to declare your intent to participate, this morning.” 

Felix blinks slowly, processing the words. Formulating his response. “To go would mean to die a pointless death,” he answers. “At the very least, I can admit that I’m in no condition to battle. I’m not going to kill myself over some bandits.”

“So you _do_ have some sense! I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Once I get better, I’m kicking your ass at the training grounds.” 

“I’ll look forward to it.” 

He blinks again, once, twice, and the lethargy settles deep within his bones. “I’m so tired,” Felix admits, quiet. He almost thinks Sylvain doesn’t hear, until his chest rumbles with a heavy sigh.

“I know, Fe,” he says, and Felix hates how sad he sounds. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

Sylvain brushes some hair out of his forehead. It should feel sticky, gross, but Sylvain just smiles at him as if he lit up the world. 

“I love you,” he says, and it feels like a secret, only for Felix.

“I love you too,” he murmurs back, holding that secret close, letting his heart go. His eyes close, until all he can feel is Sylvain’s tender touch and the brush of petals falling down from his hair. 

_This orchid crown,_ he thinks, _would be perfect for you too, Sylvain._

With that thought in mind, Felix lets out a breath and finally goes to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Do NOT question how blankets AND pillows AND food fit into Sylvain’s basket it is a magic basket ok i swear it makes sense.
> 
> Thank you for reading, guys! this is my first attempt at a shorter fic, so i hope it came out alright. I wrote this with just the flower crown scene in mind but ofc things got out of hand and i added... everything else, lol. Felix's illness is purposefully left vague, I based his experiences from a mix of personal experience and research. 
> 
> If you'd like, you can check me out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ixcarus_) and [tumblr](https://its-ixcarus.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
